Red Light
by noturgurl
Summary: Three months after Olivia's capture, she's returned home to try and pick-up where she left off. Peter helps show her the way. P/O Comfort.


**Hey guys! It feel like FOREVER since I've written anything! I can't tell you how touched I was at all the kind comments left on **_**Piano Lessons**_**. I've been dying to find some inspiration to write something else for you guys and I finally fond something :)**

Admittedly, this isn't my best writing but I have this scene in my head and I had to get it out. This hiatus is killing me! AND OMG THAT FINALE! I AM STILL FREAKING OUT!

**Anyway, hope you enjoy! This is going to be multi-chapter, so more to come later ;) As always, comments and criticism are welcomed and loved! 33**

* * *

For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, she doesn't need a reason to smile.

She feels light-headed and disconnected from reality, and yet somehow more attached than ever before.

The clock before her announces the insanely late, perhaps early hour and she's feeling each and every heavy minute of it. The clock and one opened window provide the only source of light in the blackened apartment, a fact that she's more than a little grateful for. Olivia glances to her right, eyes passing over the shadowed shape of the coffee table, which she knows is a deep shade of mahogany and hides away the last romance novel she allowed herself to indulge in. Her running shoes still sit discarded at the edge of the sofa, right where she left them. She smiles a ghost smile, fleeting but still present, and she can't find the words for how nice it is to come back to _her_ reality.

It's been nearly three months to the day, but the air of her apartment still smells just as fresh as the day she…

_No._

That reality could wait for another day. Another time.

The darkness paints inky shapes against the walls, shadows distorting their images. She watches her own as she moves through the room, mimicking her movements.

The lights remain absent as she crosses into the kitchen and grabs an unfamiliarly full bottle of Jack Daniels from the liquor cabinet. It burns sweetly as it coats her throat and settles, warm in her belly.

She swears she can actually _hear_ the smile forming on Peter's face as he leans against the door frame.

"On an empty stomach? I always knew you were braver than me."

On any other occasion she wouldn't hesitate in hurling back a witty retort, but this time she chooses to chase her unspoken words down with another shot and seal the bottle shut.

They would surely need that for later.

Peter watches from his distance as she moves through the kitchen, choosing cabinets at leisure, checking their contents, and shutting the door once more. He knows she's not looking for something in particular, just… reminding herself. He tells himself to thank Astrid later for stocking up on the food and, apparently, the drinks.

He remains silent as she pads, barefoot, to the sole open window. His fists involuntarily clench when she grimaces, ever so slightly, as a stray band of light from an offending streetlight reaches her eyes.

She looks tired, but she _feels_ it even more. A bone-deep and hollow ache that is so solid it's almost tangible.

_It's been so long…_

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth she turns away from the window and follows her footsteps to where Peter is standing, still silent and observant.

She should feel unnerved by his unwavering gaze. After all, she has had enough of being watched to last a couple lifetimes.

But she doesn't.

Instead, it makes her feel oddly at ease.

This time, she bites her lip, thankful for the pressure. To her shock, as well as his, she doesn't flinch when he reaches out and finally, _finally_ touches her. His hands are warm, all calloused and male, possessive without being presumptuous, yet altogether careful. Practiced fingers trace along her shoulder, dipping into the hollow of her collarbone.

Light pressure.

She's lost weight. More than she cares to admit. Instinctively she knows that the small furrow between his brows is his way of expressing his concern without being condoning, without telling her something she doesn't already know. The flutter of her lashes expresses her gratitude.

A withheld breath slips out from behind silent lips. Whether it's his breath of her own neither of them know and no one dares ask. Besides, it doesn't really matter.

"I knew you would come for me," she says with a strangled smile. "I always knew…"

"'Livia…"

Peter envelops her.

She had always prided herself on her stature, her ability to look a man in the eye and stand on his level. She supposed it had something to do with her innate need to remain in control of every situation, to not appear weak in front of her male counterparts. But right now, being in control is the furthest thing from Olivia's mind. She slips her arms beneath the hem of his jacket, rests her cheek against his shoulder, and inhales. He smells like Old Spice and fatigue with a hint of stale cigarette smoke, no doubt picked up from a late night binge. She presses herself tighter against him.

_I'm here. It's me. Olivia. _Your_ Olivia._

When he tilts her gaze up to his and presses his lips against her own she feels like she's finally come home.

Peter is smiling when he breaks the kiss, hands pushed through her hair, cradling her face. Her eyes slip shut as she leans into the touch that she could only content to memory for so many nights. She cocks her head to the side, studying him studying her.

"Red isn't exactly my color, is it?"

A grin splits his face and she can't help rising on her toes to taste it.

He returns the almost playful gesture and traces his tongue along the contours of her upper lip before nudging her towards her bedroom.

"Go get undressed. I'll be right back. I promise."


End file.
